


Inspiration

by thedevilchicken



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Artists, Getting Together, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Injuries, Modeling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-04
Updated: 2019-08-04
Packaged: 2020-07-31 01:41:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20107081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedevilchicken/pseuds/thedevilchicken
Summary: Leonardo has been having a bad run of luck with his models. Ezio volunteers to help.





	Inspiration

**Author's Note:**

  * For [notyourparadigm](https://archiveofourown.org/users/notyourparadigm/gifts).

When Ezio entered his workshop that first sunny afternoon, Leonardo was throwing his latest model out. 

Ezio stood by the door in the street outside, arms crossed over his chest, and he watched the model curse and gesticulate with a surprising degree of vim. He was one of a number of pretty young Venetian men who'd lately crossed his friend's threshold, tall and lean and hungry for the master's coin. Ezio had counted four in the past five weeks. Frankly, it was getting ridiculous.

"You seem to be going through models faster than my blade through a Templar," Ezio said as he came inside, with a smile and a quick flick of his wrist to demonstrate the action that was so familiar to both of them. He closed the door and he stood back against it, almost like he expected to be ejected himself, as Leonardo stood there with an uncharacteristic scowl. "What did he do wrong this time? Did he talk too much? Did he steal your good wine?"

Leonardo sighed. He shook his head and he turned away to gather his messy sketches into a bundle on the table. "He couldn't stay still," he replied, somewhat irritably. "This is why I usually prefer to draw cadavers." 

"I suppose they do generally move less." Ezio moved closer. He leaned there against Leonardo's back, one hand at the table's rough edge and one at Leonardo's far shoulder, and he looked down at the sketches; he'd scribbled over three of them in a fit of artistic pique, probably because his model had chosen that moment to stretch or bend or otherwise distract him. Of course, the sketches were good - Ezio couldn't see a single thing wrong with them. Of course, he was an Assassin, not an artist.

"I could bring you a fresh cadaver," he offered, making no promises about where exactly he'd find one. He rested his chin on Leonardo's shoulder. He smelled like oil paints and red wine and afternoon sun over afternoon sex; Ezio wasn't quite naïve enough to believe all his pretty male models were _only_ that. "Would that help?"

"No, I'm afraid that won't do," Leonardo replied. He gestured at his sketches. "The final painting needs more...life. At least more than a decomposing corpse." 

He gave Leonardo's arm a squeeze and then moved away. He leaned back against the table. "Why don't I model for you?" he asked. "I promise not to move unless you tell me to. And if I'm terrible, you can fire me, too." 

Leonardo's hands went still on the scattered pages. He glanced sidelong at Ezio. "Are you sure?" he said. "I can only pay you the usual rate. It's hardly worth your time." 

"I'm sure," Ezio confirmed, with a nod. Then he smiled, and he clapped Leonardo on the back. "For you, my friend, it's worth my time. Shall I come back at this time tomorrow?" 

Leonardo returned his smile - it was that genuine one, that private one, that always seemed to make his own a little brighter. "Come earlier," he said. He gestured to the windows with both hands. "So we can make the most of the light." 

Ezio nodded. "Tomorrow, then," he said, and he headed for the door. 

He really didn't need the use of his Assassin senses to tell him Leonardo watched him go. He didn't need his Assassin sense to tell him he was potentially making a terrible mistake. Of course, he'd made a few mistakes in his life so far, and _potentially_ had never stopped him. 

He returned to the studio the following day and let himself in just like he always did. Leonardo was already preparing his materials. 

"Where do you want me, _maestro_?" he asked, and Leonardo nodded and ushered him into a spot in the correct light. Ezio let him arrange him, Leonardo's hands tugging his arms this way and that, going down into a crouch to shift his legs just so. He looked up at him with a smile on his face and for a moment, just a second or two, Ezio wondered at himself for doing this. He wasn't a model. He'd only been painted once, as a child a long time ago, and none of the Auditore children had been able to sit still. He wondered how long Leonardo's smile would last when he realised his new model was even worse than the rest. He couldn't even guarantee he wouldn't steal his good wine. 

He stood for an hour while Leonardo sketched him, just the sound of breath and the street outside and the charcoal on the page. When his eyelid itched, he didn't scratch. When his back twinged, he didn't stretch. He watched a spot on the wall and he told himself a favour for a friend was more than worth his time, and then Leonardo sighed contentedly and put his charcoal down. 

"Are we done?" Ezio asked. 

"Yes. For today." 

"So I can move?"

Leonardo nodded. "Yes, you can move," he said. So Ezio stretched his arms hugely up above his head then he dropped to a crouch and quickly popped back up to his feet to stretch his legs, and Leonardo watched him with an amused kind of twinkle in his eye. 

"Wait, _for today_?" Ezio said. "You need more time?"

"Well, we've only just begun," Leonardo replied. "I have something of the pose but I can't paint you wearing those." He gestured at Ezio's blades that were still strapped to the insides of his forearms. 

Ezio nodded. He understood - they were something of a giveaway. "So, the same time tomorrow?" he asked, and Leonardo nodded. Ezio made his way to the door and gave a wave as he left. Honestly, it seemed modelling wasn't so bad after all. All it took was several years of Assassin training and a friend he'd give his life for; an hour standing still wasn't very much in the scheme of things.

The following day, Ezio removed his blades and left them on the table. He rubbed his arms then removed his belt, too, with its rather distinctive Assassin clasp. Then he let Leonardo return him to his pose. 

"Ezio, your knuckles are a disaster!" Leonardo exclaimed, as he positioned his hands. Ezio muttered something about the perils of his chosen profession, because they both knew so very clearly that his profession wasn't modelling, but he let Leonardo wash his faintly bloody hand then bandage it. Then they settled in for another hour of sketching. 

"I see you've been getting yourself into trouble again," Leonardo said, the following day, once Ezio had taken off his tunic - Leonardo said it was so his sketches could more closely follow his form. He had a wad of bloody linen gauze pressed against his shoulder where a guard's sword had slashed him in the night, and Leonardo frowned at him as he peeled it away. He washed the wound and he stitched it up as Ezio winced and tried hard not to flinch, then he pressed a new dressing into place and went back to his sketching. Ezio, for his part, managed to stay still, but he could still feel the warmth of Leonardo's hands on his bare skin. Confusingly, he felt it more brightly than he felt the pain. 

The following day, Ezio stripped to his waist. There were bruises over his ribs this time and when Leonardo fussed at them, testing their margins carefully with his fingertips, he left smudges of charcoal on his skin that he carefully washed away after. A drop or two of lukewarm water escaped the cloth he used and rolled down over Ezio's bare abdomen, down to the waist of his trousers. Leonardo's fingers chased it. They tucked down under the waistband, the back of them brushing the hair that led down from his navel, and Ezio shivered at his touch. He felt his face turn warm. Then Leonardo cleared his throat and retrieved his hand and returned across the room to his sketching. 

For an hour that day, all Ezio could think about was Leonardo's hands. He watched them as he sketched. He remembered them on his skin, skimming his bruised ribs, cupping his jaw to turn his head to the correct angle for the pose, fingers around his wrists as he moved him into position. He already knew that position because it didn't change from day to day. It was clear to him that he was just letting Leonardo touch him. It was clear to him that Leonardo wanted to. It was just as clear he was enjoying it himself, much to his great surprise.

The following day, Ezio took off his boots and socks so Leonardo could better figure the position of his calves and feet without volumes of boot leather being in the way; Leonardo spent a few minutes re-dressing the cut at Ezio's shoulder, then he eased him into position. Ezio let him, and he watched him as he did it: he watched Leonardo swallow as his fingers grazed his waist, watched him worry his lip with his teeth as he turned his head. Ezio enjoyed the contact. Evidently, so did Leonardo. He thought about that as he stood there, in position; he knew the things that people said about his friend's particular tastes and, until that moment, he'd never paid them much attention except to decide he couldn't see how it mattered. At that moment, though, he paid attention. He imagined the things they said that Leonardo did, except he imagined him doing them with him instead. He had to ask himself if that was really good or bad, and if he meant it. Idle fantasy was one thing; reality was another thing completely.

The day after that, Ezio took off his trousers so Leonardo could better figure the position of his thighs and his hips without so much fabric in the way; Ezio had an impressive graze across his thigh, just above his knee, from a little accident involving a rooftop guard and a tumble from an ill-maintained trellis. Leonardo washed it and dressed it and sighed as he knelt there in front of him, shaking his head. 

"Ezio, you really must learn to take better care of yourself," Leonardo said, as he finished tying the bandage and patted Ezio's thigh as if to say _all done_. "All these injuries. I know you lead a dangerous life, but you could be more careful." 

Ezio chuckled. "Why should I take care of myself when I have you to take care of me?" he said, and he reached down to brushed back a little stray hair from Leonardo's face with the back of his fingers. He tucked his hair behind his ear, let his thumb brush his cheek, and Leonardo looked up at him sharply, apparently startled. He went back up to his feet and stepped away almost too quickly, stumbling against a box of cleaning rags. And he went to his sketches and shuffled through them as Ezio wondered what it was exactly that he'd done wrong. Maybe he'd miscalculated. Maybe he'd misunderstood.

The following day, he came back again. When he took off his clothes, Leonardo didn't touch him. He put himself into position. Leonardo barely even looked at him. 

The following day, he came back again. When he took off his clothes, Leonardo winced at his new purple bruises, but he didn't cross the room to touch them. He sketched from half the room away, and that distance hurt Ezio more than any of the bruises did. That feeling made almost everything clear to him. The way Leonardo stayed away said the rest.

The following day, he came back again. When he took off his clothes, he didn't stop with his trousers. He stripped himself bare, as if that might force a reaction. It did. 

"I don't need you to be naked," Leonardo said, surprised. 

Ezio could see him blushing from across the room as he quickly looked away. He watched him rub his mouth with one charcoal-dusted hand and then frown as he realised what he'd done; he tried to rub it away with the cleaner back of his hand but it wouldn't shift. Ezio moved across the room, his bare feet quiet on the flagstones, and used one thumb to rub away a smudge of charcoal from under Leonardo's bottom lip. He traced the line of that lip with the pad of his thumb. He used his thumb to part Leonardo's lips and he traced the leading edge of his bottom teeth. Leonardo's eyes went wide. He pulled back. 

"I think I have enough sketches now," he said, abruptly. 

"You had enough sketches after the first two days," Ezio replied. "I'm not a fool, Leonardo. I understand what this is." 

"You do?"

"I do." He stepped back in close. He cupped Leonardo's jaw and stroked his cheeks with his thumbs. It was odd to be the most confident man in the room when he was stripped down to his skin in the afternoon sun.

"Do you think I have nothing else I could be doing?" Ezio asked. 

"No. I know there are other things." Leonardo smiled wryly. "I know there are other people." 

"Do you think I need the money?" Ezio asked.

"No. I know you don't, unlike my previous models." 

"Good." He smiled. "Because you know, _maestro_, you haven't paid me yet." He leaned in by his ear. Leonardo's beard tickled his jaw. "And as for _other people_...there's no one else but you." 

Leonardo's hands found Ezio's bare hips. They dipped down lower; Leonardo's hands found Ezio's bare backside. Ezio chuckled, his mouth pressed to Leonardo's neck. He had no idea what he was doing, and he'd never had a man before, but that didn't mean he wouldn't throw himself into it wholeheartedly. _Wholeheartedly_. When he drew back just far enough to kiss him, still smiling, his heart felt very whole indeed. 

Ezio had a bruise that spanned almost his entire left hand side, from his shoulder and over his ribs, past his hip and down to his knee. When Leonardo asked, he didn't lie - he'd missed his handhold and fallen thirty feet from a tower. It hadn't exactly been his finest moment. And when Leonardo took him to bed, it wasn't for sex; it was to get him off his feet because the bruising apparently looked so terrible. But Leonardo stripped his clothes off, too, and he let Ezio touch him. He'd never had a man, but in the end it didn't seem so different.

Three days later, when they went to bed in the bright afternoon sun, it wasn't because of Ezio's bruises. 

Three days after that, they sketched again. But this time it was Ezio working on his artwork, not Leonardo, and what Leonardo painted never saw the light of day.

If he'd been asked, Ezio would have said he didn't believe Leonardo's frustration had had anything to do with the models at all. He'd have said Leonardo was, for once, frustrated by a lack of inspiration. 

Ezio can be very inspiring.


End file.
